Do You Remember Me?
by Follower of Aslan
Summary: Songfic of Tim Buckley's "Once I Was." Back in England, the High King remembers Narnia, and wonders if Narnia remembers him.


**Will You Remember Me?**

_Once I was a soldier  
And I fought on foreign sands for you._

He remembered Beruna, that beautiful landscape torn by conflict and war. He remembered the taste of fear, as he watched Otmin leading the charge, realizing that this was not a fantasy, not a game. He recalled the moment when he looked back on the Narnian rebels behind him and understood that this was his destiny. And at that moment, he became the High King.

He remembered the joy welling up inside of him when Edmund was restored to them. He remembered the tears coursing down his cheeks as he beheld the plain of Beruna transformed into a field of victory. And he knew then – this was _his_ country, these were _his_ people, and should a thousand witches like Jadis attempt to overthrow this land, they would find Wolfsbane standing in their way.

He remembered countless battles during his reign, first in the Lone Islands, as the final scepter of Jadis' power was systematically broken. He could recall the bloody fields of Galma and Terebinthia; when oppressed people, groaning under the power of their tyrants, called out for rescue, and the High King of Narnia answered their call.

He remembered coming across burned villages along the northern border, and feeling his righteous anger burning as high as the flames that licked the crofts of the slaughtered Narnians, knowing it was the work of the Ettins. He remembered Ettinsmore, trudging through that bleak, cold country, Oreius at his side every step of the way. He could see again the windswept plain where he saw the hosts of Ettinsmore and Harfang waiting for him. He could remember well the bloody valley where thousands died and were trampled under the muck, before the Giants broke under a Narnian counterattack and ran. He could still feel the elation of the victory parade at the Cair tempered with the grief of those whose fathers, brothers, and sons were not counted among the survivors.

He remembered it all, the bloody fields, the cries of the wounded, the ghastly paleness of the slain. He remembered the fear of retreat, knowing the terror of defeat, the silent admission that his enemy had bested him. He remembered the euphoria that he felt in victory and the jubilation of his armies, knowing that Aslan had once again smiled on them and blessed their cause.

He remembered the How, and how he rallied Caspian from the verge of despair. He remembered Miraz, could see the man's soul through his haunted eyes, knowing that the Usurper was terrified behind his façade of confidence at facing the legend of old before him. On that day, an English schoolboy once again became a High King, and Miraz became yet another warrior to fall before Peter the Magnificent.

He beheld the defeated Telmarines at the banks of Beruna and remembered the first battle he had seen at this place, and a time when he didn't have to stand down for another to take the throne. The High King remembered, and wondered if any of the Narnians around him knew the tales of that glorious day so long ago.

_  
Once I was a hunter  
And I brought home fresh meat for you._

He had never been much of an economist, usually left those details to Lucy and Susan. But he remembered coming home with Edmund from a triumphant campaign on Felimath to find that his Lone Island advisors had lied/persuaded/threatened/deceived his sisters into raising taxes on the peasantry during a nationwide drought. The resulting tax rate had been sheer theft. The Lantern Waste was virtually in a state of rebellion, and Narnians everywhere were begging the Queens for relief. The High King had come home to find his sisters as virtual captives in the Cair, too fearful of the advisors' threats to cross them, and Tumnus was found languishing in a prison cell for daring to stand against this treachery.

The Just had to physically hold back The Magnificent from plunging Rhindon into the hearts of these treacherous men. Nonetheless, the Lone Island advisors quickly found themselves deported back to the Islands with their titles, lands, and privileges stripped from them, forbidden ever to return to Narnia on pain of death. The Narnian citizens who had been thus robbed were recompensed in entirety from the confiscated treasuries of the disgraced Island lords.

It seemed as if the entire kingdom turned out to hear the High King give a speech concerning the recent crisis. They beheld their king's eyes misting and his voice trembling as he begged their forgiveness for choosing dishonest men to help run the kingdom while he was abroad. They heard with relief his vows of assurance as he swore to aid them during this time of drought and famine. His words were repeated throughout Narnia for years after his address. "_I cannot promise all of you a roaring fire, a full stomach, a happy home. These things are out of my ability to promise,"_ they heard him say, his voice catching with emotion. _"But I swear to you, my people, that I will starve before I allow one Narnian to die of hunger or thirst, and no honest Narnian will ever be turned away from the king's table."_

And all of Narnia knew, this was the character of their High King.

_Once I was a lover  
And I searched behind your eyes for you._

Many wondered why he didn't take a wife, why he gently yet repeatedly rebuffed every offer of marriage, turning away every beautiful maiden that attempted to gain the hand of The Magnificent. He remembered the remonstrations of Tumnus, the faun beseeching him to choose one – "_just one, my liege!"_ – of the many women that came to Cair Paravel, to give the kingdom a High Queen and – eventually/hopefully – an heir. Even his siblings, who loved and trusted him with whatever amorous decision he would come to, began to wonder. He could see it in their eyes.

But how could he tell them? How could he break the news to them, that the High King had a lover? That his heart was taken? That to be united with another in the bonds of holy matrimony was unthinkable to him? How could he tell his subjects that every time he stood on the cliff and watched the outward tide of the Eastern Sea, he was looking at the one who held his heart? How could he tell his siblings that every time he beheld the banner of Narnia being raised over the Cair, he saw his lover's eyes? That every time he lay on Narnian sod, he felt lover's arms around him?

How could he tell them that he was so in love with this frame of mind, this state of being, this freedom, this liberty, this life, this land, this _ideal_ that was Narnia?

_And soon there'll be another  
To tell you I was just a lie._

The Telmarines had done their job very well.

He could find nothing – NOTHING – but oral legends on the old days. Even after the final victory and Caspian's coronation, even with the exhaustive aid of Cornelius, the High King of old found scarcely little in reference to the Golden Age. Oreius was known only to Glenstorm and his family. Even Tumnus was all but forgotten. The old alliance between Archenland and Narnia was entirely erased from the memory of present-day Narnians. Battles and campaigns that he could recall almost perfectly were deemed myths. The Four Monarchs themselves were considered to be rumors before they arrived in person to aid Caspian in his quest to wrest his crown away from his usurping uncle.

He wanted to scream. He would have, had it not been unkingly and unmasculine. _This is not justice!_, he wanted to roar out to Caspian and his followers. But he could not blame the Telmarine Prince for the actions of his ancestors. Still, his heart ached as he recalled to mind those whom he had fought and bled beside. Those whom had sworn to follow him to their deaths – and had.

He had lived among legends, among simple creatures who became giants. _Tumnus the traitor, who in the end dared to defy Jadis in the midst of her ice castle. Oreius, the famed centaur rebel who rose to become the High Commander of Narnia's armies. Giant Rumblebuffin, who almost singlehandedly turned the tide at Beruna with his massive club and who died an honorable death defending his king against the Ettins_. He remembered all of them, and tears sprang to his eyes at the memory of their loyalty, of the time they had looked to him with pride emanating from their voices as they called him their High King.

Even as the New Narnians voiced their respect for him as the High King of old, the boy from Finchley didn't see the love in their eyes that he had seen from the Narnians in the Golden Age. How could he? These Narnians had been told time and again that he and his siblings were a lie, and over the centuries they had slowly begun to believe as much. They knew and esteemed the title, but they didn't know and understand the boy – the man – behind the title. They didn't know that he was The Magnificent because he first was Peter. And New Narnia, with the future bright before them and their dark past broken down, couldn't understand the king of old that had been Peter.

_And sometimes I wonder  
Just for a while,  
Will you ever remember me?_

He had once called Narnia his lover, the joy of his heart. Now this Narnia turned its back on him. Yes, he understood and accepted that this was a different time, that the Golden Age was over, that the old days were gone, that Caspian was the one they called king. But in the deep recesses of his heart, he yearned to know if this Narnia still saw him as The Magnificent, the High King. Now, as he struggled to make sense of this strange land he had once called home, he wondered if the cry of his heart was heard by his country.

_You once called me your ruler…_

_I fought for you…_

_I bled for you…_

_I loved you…do you remember me?_

_  
And though you have forgotten  
All of our rubbish dreams,_

Eustace had told him everything privately, had told him of all the adventures he and Jill had experienced, of Rilian's restoration and Caspian's death. When he had asked the boy, offhandedly, if the kingdom had changed at all since the battle at the How, Eustace had glanced away before responding in hushed tones. "_No one speaks of that anymore, Pete_" his cousin had whispered. "_They spoke of Caspian as if he were a demigod, but said nothing of the four monarchs who won him his throne._" Catching the gaze of his royal cousin, the young Scrubb hastened to give comfort to the older boy. "_I tried to tell them, Pete, honest I did. I'm sure they'll remember you, in the end._" And Peter merely patted his younger cousin on the shoulder, said that it was alright, not to worry himself over it, that Caspian deserved/earned all the praise he received, and walked out of the house.

He would never tell the boy how those words had cut him to the heart. And Eustace would never see the broken sobs of a king whose country had forgotten him.

_  
I find myself searching  
Through the ashes of our ruins._

The glory days. He would smile in remembering them one day, then they would return to haunt him the next. The days when he spoke, and his words became law. The mornings when he would complete a training session with Oreius and would look up to see the hard-earned respect in his general's eyes. The hours when he would dance with the fauns at the seasonal festivities, twirling his sisters or another native female of Narnia in a merry reel. The moments when evildoers would cower before his righteous anger tempered with justice, and he would look up to see a smile on Edmund's lips and know that he had done right.

He never thought that it would end in anything else, but his death.

Yet when they were called into Narnia the second time and he beheld the ruins of Cair Paravel, he should've known then and accepted that his time was over.

Only his siblings saw the bitter tears he silently shed on that day, Lucy sobbing with him, Edmund's sympathetic hand on his shoulder, Susan drying his eyes and bestowing a kiss on his forehead. They heard his shouted remonstrations to the heavens at the injustice that allowed Cair Paravel to be destroyed and Narnia to be conquered without their High King there to defend them. But not even they fully understood when he collapsed to his knees, a broken, crushed youth, and whispered "_Why did you take my love away from me?_"

_  
For the days when we smiled  
And the hours that ran wild;  
With the magic of our eyes  
And the silence of our words_

He met King George VI once, when the monarch toured his school after the war had ended. George VI never knew that he shook the hand of another king, that when he smiled at the simple schoolboy, he was gazing into the eyes of a fellow sovereign.

He couldn't sing "Rule Britannia" – to do so made him feel like a traitor. To salute the Union Jack was impossible, for every time he did he saw the red and yellow Narnian standard fluttering before his eyes.

He had come to realize that he was an alien in a foreign land.

_And sometimes I wonder  
Just for a while,  
Will you ever remember me?_

_Ever remember me?_

He remembered it all – Father Christmas, the Beavers, the rebel encampment, Oreius. He remembered the joy he'd felt at every sight of Aslan, how his heart was at complete peace whenever the Almighty Lion was around. He remembered the first time he heard the name of Aslan, and how the Lion gave him the quiet strength to become a High King. He remembered hearing the true story of what Aslan did at the Stone Table, and swore to do the same if his life was required of him for the defense of Narnia.

He remembered Lune of Archenland and his sons, and the alliance they fostered with him and his siblings. He remembered the eyes of those his armies had freed on Galma, Terebinthia, and the Lone Islands, how they showered blessings and praises on his head for liberating them from their tyrants. He remembered his relief at the final victory over the Ettins, knowing that Narnia's ancient foes were finally beaten, that the northern border could now live at peace.

He remembered Narnia, its beautiful variety in land and people, the domestic pleasures of Chippingford and Beaversdam combined with the untamed beauty of the Northern Marches and the Southern Mountains. He remembered Narnia, its people happy and content, knowing that their High King would defend them to the death. He remembered Narnia, his kingdom, his life, his love, his land, his home, his happiness, his loyalty, his everything.

But at night, his thoughts plagued him, tormenting him with what he had known and experienced, torturing him with what he had lost. And he wondered if Narnia remembered the old days, remembered those who fought, bled, and died to bring on the Golden Age, remembered the Four Monarchs who guided the kingdom through that time.

Remembered the High King who left his heart and soul with them.

_You once called me your ruler…_

_I fought for you…_

_I bled for you…_

_..._

_..._

_I loved you…do you remember me?_

**A/N: Wow, talk about a plot bunny that would not let me go until I had written it. I honestly didn't realize just how sad it was until I had finished it and finally sat back to read it in entirety. I apologize for any induced tears ;-) I love Tim Buckley's "Once I Was" and got it into my head one day that this would make a good fic to go with Peter. ****Only you, dear reader, can decide if it was a success. **

**2nd A/N: The character portrayal of Peter in this fic is the kind of portrayal that, IMO, SHOULD HAVE been presented in the Prince Caspian film, not the selfish, arrogant child as he was portrayed. The film would have been so much better, I think, if Peter had been presented more like he was in the book, with some angsty memories thrown in. But who am I - I'm just a fanfic writer...  
**


End file.
